


A Taste for Mushrooms

by Nightingalebird



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Mushrooms, Watching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-27 23:58:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/667950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightingalebird/pseuds/Nightingalebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The company comes across a patch of mushrooms, but not are all as they seem and the poor hobbit learns the hard-way to heed the warnings of dwarves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Taste for Mushrooms

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [My Legs are Cramping](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/16807) by Archia. 



He was not sure how it had happened, or when it was determined, but as the line of ponies continued down the road it was the Hobbit that had taken up the rear. In many ways he found this to be a poor decision on the dwarves parts. He could have easily been picked off by whatever might lay off the path, but the company didn’t seem very concerned for his being. 

Bilbo was letting his mind wander, eye fixated off the path to just be certain nothing would sneak up on him, no wandering branch would take hold. He had heard stories of the willows and their moving vines, swallowing men whole. This forest was deadly in its silence, not a bird or creature made noise or sound which made the atmosphere tense and unnerving.

Finally, just when Bilbo could take no more of the silence, a voice broke through. “Look at this, lads! Wild mushrooms.” Bofur had dismounted from his pony and was making his way off the path and towards the patch. It seemed all the dwarves were intending to stop now, except Thorin who remained on his pony, rolling his eyes as he watched the group make after the mushrooms like they hadn’t had a decent meal in ages. (Which, by all accounts, was partially a truth.) Bilbo struggled with his pony, it reared and kept trotting even as he urged it to a stop. Only when he pulled hard at the reigns did it come to hault, but even then seemed intent on removing Bilbo from its back. The hobbit let out a annoyed sigh but his mind was fixated on only one thing.

Mushrooms. 

When was the last time he had the delight of wild mushrooms? Some of the hobbit nearest to the Brandywine grew wonderful mushrooms, but it was rare he wandered that far from Hobbiton. As you may know, hobbits have a fondness for mushrooms, and so the ache for one only made his stomach gurgle. He peered over the shoulders of many a dwarf, hoping he might snag only one before they were all devoured. Thorin was reminded of a runt, though part of him felt badly. “Bofur,” He called, “Save a few for our burglar.” 

“I can handle myself, thank you very much.” Bilbo retorted.

“I am sure you can, Master Hobbit, I was only trying to lend a hand.”

“I don’t need such a thing,” He could most certainly take care of himself, but more importantly, he did not want to rely on Thorin for such a small task. He felt as if he relied on him for everything else, this one thing he could handle on his own.

While he struggled to gain some traction on the hoard of dwarves, he looked across the way and spotted another, smaller patch of mushrooms just a bit away. He grinned to himself, pride swelling in his chest as he scurried over. The plucked one and happily stuffed it into his mouth. It was different from any mushroom he ever had before, but was sweet and tender. He was quick to devour another.

“I wouldn’t eat too many if I were you,” Thorin’s voice warned from his back, but Bilbo scoffed. What would a dwarf know of mushrooms? 

“If you’d like some yourself, you only need ask.” Bilbo thought he was being terribly cheeky, and smiled back at Thorin while another mushroom was pushed between his lips. 

“No, I won’t be having any of those.” He didn’t speak of why, which Bilbo thought odd, but his fondness for the mushrooms only grew with each one he ate. Soon his stomach was round and full and he let out a content sigh. The sun was already dipping behind the trees when the last mushroom was polished off by the hobbit, and the dwarves had moved to set up their camp. “Were they good?” Thorin finally asked, looking over the hobbit, face as stern as ever.

Bilbo opened his mouth, made to tell him what a delight they were, but found his tongue as heavy as lead and he unable to speak. His eyes widened, blinking with confusion as he tried to speak for a second time. “And I was told hobbits had a keen sense of food,” Thorin shook his head, but the frustration growing on Bilbo’s face made him bite his tongue. “I did warn you.”

‘Not well enough!’ Bilbo thought, crossing his arms and letting out a loud huff. He was very sour with Thorin, not from embarrassment for these enchanted mushrooms that stole his voice, but for, once again, not heeding the advice of the dwarf. That, and the dwarf having to give it in the first place.

This journey was not meant for him. He was dependant in a way he wished he wasn’t, and was frail in a way he could not fortify. The intimate moments shared with Thorin had only proven his weakness; a weakness to charm, to strength, to fidelity, to all he was not. He stood then, turning a hurt expression towards the dwarf before walking to sit beside Bofur, who joyfully pulled him into a warm embrace and pointed to the fire, speaking nonsense about a bearded woman he missed. 

Thorin frowned but said no more, retiring to the edge of camp to be alone with his thoughts. Bilbo did not approach Thorin that night, though even as the rest of the dwarves succumbed to the weight of night on their eyes, he remained awake, staring into the fire with his mind far off.

“Master Baggins?” Thorin’s voice was tender in the approach, while a gentle hand moved to a shoulder that felt so meager under his palm. When he received no response, the great king kneeled before the simple hobbit, caressing a freckled cheek with rough and calloused fingers. “Do you still hold a grudge on me, little one?” The dwarf cleared his throat, “You know I meant no harm,” a small pause, “I would never intend you harm.” 

He watched with a small smile tugging the ends of his lips as Bilbo nuzzled against his hand in a seemingly instinctual manner. The hobbit was drawn to his warmth like a moth to flame, craving more than these tender moments they only shared under the cover of night. He was weak for Thorin, and he was once again giving in to the comfort.

“Tell me what ails you?” He asked with a haughty laugh, teasing the poor hobbit was too tempting for him to deny, even when he should be expressing an apology. “Did you find game in ignoring me?” What a cruel mind he had, though the nervous expression that came across Bilbo’s face felt as if he had won. “If you no longer wish my company, I understand,” He stood, using his knee to aid him, leaving the boy without contact once more. 

He stood at his full height, let his eyes fall away for just a moment. Bilbo had stood, wavering, small fingers reaching out to grip the collar of fur. “Mmm?” Thorin asked, though he would not be questioning long. “Can’t you not tell me, little on-“ The hobbit’s lips silenced his own, small arms wrapped across his shoulders and tugging him closer still, toes pushed to their tips to reach the dwarf properly. Thorin chuckled against the warm kiss, returning it, deepening its passion. This little hobbit stirred in him feelings he had long since forgotten. He wished to claim it for his own, never let it go and drown in its loveliness. Arms wound across Bilbo’s back to pull him flush against his own frame, his actions eliciting a noise of pleasure from his hobbit. He wanted more of it. If he was not careful, he’d grow addicted to this little one, and yet as those small fingers intertwined in his beard and thick mane, he found himself glad for the craving. 

Bilbo’s legs began to cramp with his strain to stay at Thorin’s lips, but the dwarf quickly accommodated their size difference, lifting the hobbit clear from the ground, walking him off to the spot where his blankets were set. Lips never dared to leave the eager hobbit’s, even as he laid them both down upon the covers. Before long Bilbo lay beneath the larger man, breaking the kiss for only a gasp of much needed air. Face flushed, small fingers brushing across a bearded cheek while the dwarf’s fingers worked along his shirt. He wanted to speak, to tell him how desperately he craved this contact and how he forgave him and hoped he received his forgiveness in return, and yet he revealed in this silence. No words would be needed with sweet caresses and hungry kisses. Bilbo gave in, and finally, lost himself to weakness.


End file.
